


of a girl so in love with the wrong world

by futile_devices



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Character Death, I’m not tagging this as actual slash because I??? Don’t think it counts, Nobody nobody nobody no body, Nyna deserves happiness and yet, Past Relationship(s), Suicide Idealization, anyway, haha grammar doesn’t exist I’m so sorry abt my sentence structure, kinda novelization kinda not, most of it is just lines in new mystery that reference her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17656742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futile_devices/pseuds/futile_devices
Summary: the white rose of archanea during the events of new mystery





	of a girl so in love with the wrong world

‘ **_After the last war, Princess Nyna let this country keep its sovereignty under the rule of General Lorenz. However, as soon as Hardin became emperor, General Lorenz was banished and Lang's troops came crawling in. Lang stole everything from us. He stole our gold, of course, but he even stole our food and our loved ones... Ah... If only General Camus were here! Then we wouldn't have to live in fear of people like Lang!_ **’

 

The white rose stands, no longer proudly but with a quiet grace. Her land could not succumb to the suffering it once had. The strife of war and bloody rebellions. That time had ended, heralded by the strike of Medeus and peace treaties. Now should have been the time for unity, aid in each kingdom’s restoration for none were left unscathed. Farmland remains scorched, cities pillaged and ransacked, graveyards made out of backway roads. Archanea to lead them, as always, in their divine and holy elegance from the days of Adrah to Artemis to herself. No longer would she remain some hidden passion, a flower in the shade of looming trees. Her father’s voice, quelling her fits and outbursts, is silent, and her mother’s only rings a quiet echoing of ‘ _The time will come, Nyna. You must be ready to choose for the good of all_ ’. Ghosts have no place in the future. Their voices no longer ring and their hands no longer hold so gently.

 

For that ghost, the one that continues to haunt and stir in her sleep, lead her off to dreams that would never happen (Nyna sees one now, ‘ _do you hate me still?_ ’ kindness tempering misdeeds, care given in desolation, quiet conversations on balconies when no other guards were patrolling. ‘ _i do not know’_ and that was enough for a release of breath and freedom of air), Nyna leaves his people in the proper care. Pardon for the rebellion spurred upon by a weaker king, lets them rebuild what they can under a general whose whole heart belonged to the kingdom he served. If _he_ could not live, then let his people, that flag that inspired such loyalty to drag a man to his death. An offering, perhaps, to place upon an altar with portraits of unlived memories and words left unsaid. An apology to the man she loves, even if it would only reach him beyond the grave.

 

But Hardin’s grip is tight against her, fingernails digging into the soft of her flesh, and _oh hadn’t they just woken up?_ Something different in his eyes, a different gleam as they lean against the railing overlooking _their_ kingdom. ‘ _have i angered you, my love?_ ’ marring her words with sweet titles as if to distract her husband from the treacherous rhythm of her beating heart. His hand moves to metal on her finger, ghosting the ring with his touch and there is a certain mockery in how the sunrise plays with the golden glint. ‘ _you know that i love you_ ’ how could she not? As if it did not plague her each waking moment, set this weight of guilt to occupy her heart. ‘ _of course_ ’ is the only response she can give. there is something on the tip of his tongue, but the emperor does not offer it. as if holding it, scrutinizing the cadence and lilt and her faraway gaze as she wishes for another scene.

 

Lies could only last so long as battalions are deployed and her heart wanes further.

  


**_‘I don't understand either. Princess Nyna didn't explain why, just that I had to give it to you... I remember her eyes seemed so sad... I think she may have been crying…’_ **

 

The tale of Artemis and Anri haunts the queen, a jester in the shadows, laughing at her sacrifices and desires. Desperation is such a fruitless thing driving those under its spell to reckless ends and destroys all in its paths. Curse her twice again this time, no allowance for effervescence or held back laughter. His eyes darken, sunlight no longer reflecting in their earthen shades, and steps heavy upon the stone floors. A door slams heavily, and they are alone (if one did not count the ghost who stands between them), the echo reverberating from the high ceilings. ‘ _who is it?_ ’  his voice is cold, and nyna can trace the linings of icicles in those three words, but her heartbeat over takes it, near trashing in her chest as she stares at her husband. heartache and war seemed the only constants, and she might die the same as Artemis by the hand of Aurelis’s prince and the man she married. Anri’s memory far from gone. Did the princess think it better to die for her child than to live beside a man she did not love, longing for someone across kingdoms and out of reach? ‘ _who, my love?_ ’ and she feigns ignorance, holding that secret deep within her being, letting no light shine upon it except the moon’s reflected through teardrops. ‘ _do not take me for a fool, nyna_ ’ poison from his lips, dripping through his words and oh was she truly so wrong? no more dreaming of the dead with lovelorn thoughts as if _he_ still took breath for her love to be justified (as if it was ever). ‘ _what do you wish for me to say, hardin?_ ’ it’s through quiet defeat and a gentle sigh, two years of pretending and masking wearing down on the queen. what was the point anymore if he knew. ‘ _that you love me as i love you_ ’ but she cannot.

 

a corpse still rots somewhere, or a man walks far from the country he would have died for. but he is still there, whether in body or in spirit. nyna cannot give any reason why each moment kills her, leaves her a wretched mess when she should stand with the grace befitting of her station and tears begin to fall from her eyes, and they may very well flood the room the two stand in. ‘ _then i love you, hardin_.’ for she has never done anything more than what people have desired of her (and that once, what a sin). selfless sacrifices are what dug her into this grave, and her crown is far too heavy that she cannot dig herself out. let her die here if that is what it must come to. at least then, she would be united with everyone who left her.

 

but the emperor does not take it, and there is half a thought that she should cower and beg for forgiveness, yet nyna is far too stubborn and hardin simply leaves. left alone with the phantom of his words, what she has allowed to happen in her selfish longings, and they overflow and overflow and overflow till she is wailing as she had the day her parents were strung up from the castle parapets.

 

linde comes, eventually, quiet rapping on the door, and nyna knows what she must do.

 

for the sake of her kingdom, if she is able to attempt its salvation once again.

 

**_‘I pledged allegiance to Princess Nyna, but as for Hardin... I've had it with him. Taking other countries by force, executing "rebels" without reason...’_ **

 

from the window she watches as masses of soldiers leave the fort, armed with blades and polearms, armor glimmering in the sun, the glory of archanea. how much more could grust take, or any other nation, for sure to come they too would be consumed and conquered. as if the war of shadows did not exist, and all thoughts of reconstruction turned toward war. did the generals not tire of it? endless bloodshed and weary bodies to set up camp in foreign lands, cold and lacking shoes? it is not so simple as that, though, nyna must realize, sitting in her heights of privilege and nobility, the wife of the emperor who commands all such forces. and that is all she’d ever be, now, isnt it? the reason for all this and the one who stood powerless while her people suffered. yet this is worse than her father, for at least inaction did not materialize in the burning of villages and mass executions. letting people starve or the outright murder, did it matter in the end, which was worse, if nothing is none about it. there is no league for nyna to gather now, no flag to mount in the name of justice. oh how foolish she was, how helpless the queen of archanea lives, imprisoned in her own castle and with no love to at least breathe easily. what worth is she to her kingdom if she allows all this pain, where is the white rose who managed to capture the hope and inspiration of her people, to see the future in her eyes and believe in it? that passion underneath a trim disposition?

 

the one who was able to bide her time in captivity, soften the heart of enemies, carry herself in a regal elegance that commanded obedience, and a sound wisdom? the white rose of archanea, the eternal princess, where is she as her husband turns her continent to ash in her name. all of it rests upon her shoulders for sacrifices she had not been able to pay, for lies she could no longer make believable.

 

and camus was right, she finds now. that she is childish for allowing a fleeting fancy to destroy all she had ever known. but the knight gets out easy in death, and perhaps they both should have died upon that battlefield, though loyalty and love are not the same. oh it would have saved the continent so much if their story ended in that moment with bellowing winds and desperate pleas.

 

or perhaps before then, at the seize of millenium court, that she might have been strung up alongside her mother and father, charged with their very same crimes. easier to root the weeds before they grew, spelled sorrow that could no longer be reversed. a coward is the last survivor, one not brave enough to stand beside those in peril. it was not nyna who needed to be the last heir, but fortune enjoys her little games. or taken that blade when midia had been struck down. begged camus to transfix her upon his lance before they could be the cause of the continents suffering. buried and forgotten in all but memoriam. but that is getting off easier as well, no payment for the crimes she would allow if they came to pass.

 

to say she did it all for love is not a worthwhile excuse.

 

**_‘But why? He should have been happy after his union with his beloved Princess Nyna, so why the envy?’_ **

 

the wedding was grand. nyna remembers it so, a haunting laughter, a fixture to a false god. open hearts and quiet promises that she made with silent lies. a ring of gold, the very same sanctity of her holy kingdom, of all those kings and queens before her, those forefathers that should look upon her in shame and held in this little band. to know how dearly she wishes to slip it off. her hand be free and without the duty of holding another. holding _that_ other, fears that grip her even when they are intertwined under the marble archway. ‘the happiest day of my life’ her mother used to say with such warm reminiscence and saccharine hope. ‘and yours, my little rose’. nyna must commend whatever fates strung upon the line of her life, for none could ever believe it to pass, not when childhood had been only of neatly trimmed gowns and the proper greetings to lords and ladies and monarchs of other kingdoms. who could see the downfall of archanea, driven by its very own hand. imperial immolation, though the motive never as honorable. all by a simple marriage, by a simple affair. destroyed by the vices of those pure white roses, those that fall around her gown, even if they should be stained red.  

 

do not forgive for her for her silence and the dipping of moods. first dances are to be such joyful little universes, each step in time, but nyna looks down, unable to meet hardin’s gaze for fear of what she might see. love or hatred- nyna cannot say which would be worse, so she denies the possibility of even knowing. the orchestra plays a graceful tune, but the queen cannot lose herself within the melody. there are far too many wishes for another life, another love, another dance when she speaks ‘ _i did not see your brother in attendance._ ’ curt. cold. a matter left for before ceremonies yet she had been silent then as well. ‘ _he tried, yet he is still ill. i am sure we will see him in the passing time, but let us move to happier matters, my love._ ’ oh she begs to be lost in this act, to claim it as her very own. the joy and light, transcending peace and harmony. ‘ _of course._ ’

 

**_‘When Princess Nyna and Prince Hardin were married, I thought "peace at last". But now everything's gone insane. Oh, God... What on earth are we supposed to do...?’_ **

 

she could not act well enough for her people. lay the blame on her for that crime. a torch far too heavy, a blazing crown that even still could not cast enough light for nyna to give form to truth. let it rest upon her shoulders, for then she might get it right. yet it is false to presume that her burden has been light in these cowering shadows. if she is worth enough to do so, let her give the deepest of apologies to her people, those she could not aid under her father’s rule and those she cannot, as well, now. those whose farmland remains scarred and villages unrepaired. those innocent soldiers executed on imperial command. all those who remain in occupation whose plights of imprisonment she knows as the very history of her family. let her give the lowest and most unadulterated apologies.

 

as hardin drags her, it may be the only breath she will be able to give.

 

**_‘You speak of Sir Camus of Grust? The people must never know... 'Twould be heresy. The decision cost us dearly, but what choice did we have? It was for our country.’_ **

 

it is a quiet memory, one so faint nyna believes she is dreaming it, though that may very well be true as well. the scene is silent for all but steps upon the ballroom floor. moonlight filters through the windows, casting light upon the two intertwined. ‘ _i still cannot believe that you’ve not danced before_ ’ nyna speaks lightly as if with the very flutter of petals through a summer gale.  ‘ _with what time or reason would i?_ ’ his eyes seem so soft in their solitude, away from any other distractions or the mortal word that drags them below the deepest seas. ‘ _are balls and such not common in grust? or is it only you?_ ’ half a joke, and gods it feels like ages since anything of humor has left her lips. ‘ _what do you think, princess?_ ’ so casual, though a year would do that, melting away all previous hatreds, oh what kindness could reveal in broken hearts, mercy when none other could show it, or perhaps nyna is simply a fool, falling for the moon’s inconsistent phases. ‘ _knights are chivalrous; I do not think it would be proper if you were to refuse a noble who asked you, yet with such a stern face I doubt anyone would ask for your hand… if grust were a place for balls_ ’ a slight grin, and if the light is not playing tricks nyna believes she sees the same on his. ‘ _if it were, i would imagine you would be right_ ’ ‘ _and you have two left feet_ ’

 

**_‘On the bright side, Hardin was happy. In fact, the thought that he was to be Princess Nyna's husband pleased him greater than his ascension to the throne.’_ **

 

but the mist fades and hardin holds her, perhaps the greatest treasure he could lay his hands upon. a gentle smile, one more than nyna would ever deserve as she is now, stepping to a false melody. there is no safety, no comfort, oh she is heavy in his arms. she cannot say that there had ever been joy in being alone in this company, and how awful is it to speak of that? it pains the queen more to know the world could be hers if she only spoke of it, regardless in question or of an offhanded musing. duty is duty after all, yet it could never be for hardin. eyes, despite all that he had seen and done, have an innocent gleam when they find nyna’s who can only give what she can artifice. that is all that she is. an artifice. though it brings her no joy or pleasure in that manipulation, but a silent wish that times never had need of them. hands on her waist, delicate, nearly in veneration, and that is awful.

 

it is suffocating.

 

**_‘But sadly, Hardin soon realized that Princess Nyna did not reciprocate his love. It pained him greatly... He shut himself into his room, drinking away his sorrows, and saw no one.’_ **

 

and she chokes on all that she has hidden in grief and rage and sorrow and woe and all those little tragedies that had written themself upon her very existence. there are no names for that ghost that she longs for, for he is beyond their shore, beyond their mind, and nyna is selfish enough to keep that phantom within herself. a land of all, for her and her alone, and that is all she had wished for, in the end. this was not it. this was never it. maybe it never existed for her, and it had all been a dream fabricated in the desperation of wartime and loss. the ring upon her finger is not honest, and is, in fact, made of gilded gold.

 

 _‘hardin?’_ a quiet knock on the door, and despite everything, concern laced in nyna’s voice. (the vices within here hope it is not enough to make him believe that the emptiness she spoke of was, too, false, and that this is her wishing for what he always had)

 

but there is no response.

 

**_‘Hardin handed Princess Nyna to Gharnef. Gharnef said that he required the blood of noble-born clerics in order to resurrect the Shadow Dragon... Please save Princess Nyna. Even if Archanea's destruction cannot be undone... Make sure that she is safe…’_ **

 

the cell is familiar, at the very least. of two years past, yet there is no comforting presence on the other side. no one keeps her company. the other three are kept elsewhere, nyna assumes, and that is fine. if she is to be kept away from others, then she will not face their judgement or scorn. if she is to hear words on how she is wrong or what she could have done, the queen may as well simply give up. it is a tipping point that she stands near upon in the darkness, such desolation in only cold flickering candlelight. high horses and righteous attitudes do nothing more than spur her further, and in truth nyna does not need to be imprisoned to be shackled or in isolation. it is quiet, though, and at times she finds the courage to hum an old melody, some tavern song that the bards would play, and it is comforting if nothing else. it is comforting, if anything could ever be anymore.

 

does she even think about being rescued?

 

there is a hope, so ludicrous and outlandish, that she won’t ever speak of, for she has long forgotten fairytale endings (it seems so similar to those old tales, dragons and princesses, but there is no knight to save her in the end). if not, then the world should fall to ashes, and at this point, it may as well. drowning in grief and pity, what more is there to speak of. truly? her kingdom is tortured, all joys extinguished, and somehow, in irony and woe she thinks that there is no other road of life she is to take. perhaps if her heart was still her master and could hope of grander and lighter futures, but what else is she to do.

 

to rot here might be a fitting an end, to die alongside her kingdom. alongside her love.    **_  
_**  


**_‘Nyna? That woman betrayed me. All I wanted to do was destroy Grust. That woman had the audacity to give the emblem to that boy... And so I punished her. I will kill all who oppose me. ’_ **

 

it is right, the queen supposes, as she is taken to the altar. for all that she has done, a fitting punishment. something of justice, perhaps, for that heart she tore in half, for those lives left to corpses and mass graves of a land she should have protected. once more, and this may be the last time she ever does, will she beg for forgiveness. nyna had only been doing what she thought was right, what was noble and expected of her (then do we not place the blame on what has taught and ingrained within her?). what was best at the time. what was best in her mind. giving no thought to her heart, her happiness. those were dead alongside her family, strung up in their same place. those were dead alongside that ghost on the shore, on that very battlefield where she threw all caution to the wind. forgive her for foolish decisions and fleeting fancies, she thought she hold it all.

 

if she had never loved camus, if she had never chosen marth over hardin (and then hardin over marth), if she had never been who she was, then the world, surely, would be greater. perhaps archanea would still stand as the holy kingdom it always had been since the days of artemis. the eternal palace would never fall, crumble under the weight of warring nations. she would not be here to shed tears and she would not be forced down and held, a darkness that she only saw for moments in the eyes of her husband.

 

nyna cannot blame retribution or the like.

 

**_‘And now I'm finally saved... Marth... Please... Nyna... Save Nyna... Please... ...Tell her... Tell her for me... Till... till the very end... I ...loved her... always... Tell her... to please...forgive me…’_ **

 

slowly, it comes. and it is only a split moment where nyna wishes to run as the chanting continues and the fog surrounds and it heightens and it heights and she is raised above the ground. she wishes to run, wishes to leave this all, and in that one second, she wishes that the world never was but still she is. that none of this could have happened, but not in that drudge of deprecation, but of a simple breeze (a voice she can hear, sweet and soft, telling her something but the voice is scattered) that fates would have been written better, and that they could all simply exist for existence’s sake. for nothing more than to breathe and see and touch. no grand purposes or exalted blood. only life and all it’s quiet joys and hardships, not of dragons and continents and holy blades. but of whispers and cold glances and endless songs.

 

but it is too late for those dreams.  

 

**_‘WE WILL KILL ALL... WHO DEFY... LORD MEDEUS…’_ **

 

The shade consumes her, fills every empty part of her soul with a darkness. Oh there is power in her hands, from the very staff she wields to the ache in her chest. A little puppet, but perhaps that was better than her autonomy, for what had it brought her kingdom? Strife and war and an emperor who wished to unleash his rage and jealousy on the masses, bloody the land till it could be reminiscent of his woes and sorrows that _Nyna_ stands guilty for. Let her finally become the villain he has made her out to be, even if for his fleeting cause. She is heartless, cold empty chambers in that little cage where her heart once beat. Cast aside apologies that she stained her tongue with, Nyna now knows they are worth nothing. Lightning wills itself to strike whoever approaches her without reserve or hesitation. A queen’s place would never be the battlefield, but that is fine. There would no longer be an Archanea to rule over nor Altea to ally with or any other trivial borders that divided people when they only yearned for righteous destruction. A wasteland is fitting for those who make their home upon this dreaded continent, let all their sins and worries be washed away. Past loves and current suffering, oh death seemed a needed mercy to this queen who has only known interminable tragedy. Rest and reprieve, within her grasp if she only followed those commands that the voice sings of.

 

but it lets go, and there is a hand upon hers, gentle, familiar. delicate in the way it is barely even there. a ghost, perhaps, but she knows it there once the darkness fades and dear god what had she done? something terrible, something foolish. enough to drive an innocent man, a once just and noble man, to the lowest of despairs. a simple and deep hurt, and in turn, herself.

 

nyna does not even realize she is speaking. not until another voice meets hers, that very same hand that steadies her as her balance wanes.

 

 _“My queen... Prince Marth has ended Hardin's suffering. The Emperor loved you till the very end. He was sorry for what he'd done to you. It's alright now. You need not worry. It was all just a bad dream…”_ wistful, in some ways, a longing, though hidden in it’s cold tone, but even she can say that it wishes to be warm. or that it has learnt to be in time away. but if it is the first thing she should hear, then that is enough.

 

 _“...... Who......?”_ opening her eyes and- the light is blinding. gold. all she sees is gold, and she would have fallen in love with the color if she was not drawn apart between what she is and what she has done and who she is and was. _“Oh...! You're…”_ its gold and she knows it, she has seen it before under the moon’s pale glow, has felt it in the dead of night, and she had loved it more than she should have. _“Camus...?! Camus!!”_ a name she has longed to speak, missing how it fell upon the air, could not say it enough to erase its absence, but nyna may try, may paint the sky with it all until she could be whole again. _“Why... Why are you... This is a dream, isn't it?”_ for why else would he stand before her, that ghost on the shore which she has strained to see in every shadow? or perhaps she is dead, and this is merely the afterlife, and phantoms can meet new ones, welcome them into the light and they will be whole again regardless of mortal plights. but then, as well, she must ask, why the mask. it is unsightly, for that countenance she has wishes to see for so long.

 

 _“Nngh! ...My queen... You are mistaken…”_ but that voice, she hear it as clear as those starlit nights, just for the both of them in their silence, beyond words for neither of them could give them proper form. those days where she cannot say she suffered, or maybe that was simply her own delusion. she could hear it like that very first day, that fit of passion and rage and desperation (and what she wouldnt give to feel so wholly like that again) that sable, she has known it too, had seen it in both imprisonment and freedom, had seen it go to lengths of the world that not even she could trace. _“I am Sirius, a soldier of the allied forces. I know not of this Camus…”_

 

but it was… she could not misplace him, could not forget, for however much she wished to. _“Sirius…!?”_ nyna tries, but finds it false upon her tongue. it holds no frigidity as it once did. it holds no warmth either. it is not familiar. it is not the name she loved. (nor is it the name that other does) both her hands take his in some fit of confusion and wanting _“It can't be... No! You're wrong!! You're…”_ could she not ask for one thing amidst this all, or was living her only reward and what is left of it should be the same nothing. nyna could care less of impressions or what is polite, and what is right as she looks up to a blank mask.

 

he stands frozen, stiff, held in a memory but one that should have never been relived. one he promised himself, perhaps, that he would never. _“Please, calm yourself; you must be exhausted. I must depart soon. Queen Nyna, listen to me... You should head to Prince Marth.”_

 

and nyna, too, falls. _“You…”_ but she will not cry, no, she has done enough of that and with nothing to show but more sorrow. it is all swirling, now, everything and nothing, and all she wants, all she wishes for is for someone near her. perhaps she is a coward for wanting to feel alright. no one would save her, but could she not ask for a simple embrace, for one last kiss. but he is nobody and so is she. _“Where are you going?”_ another goodbye, it seemed, and this one all the more sorrowful, all the same. he can lie all he wishes but-

 

and she breaks her promise.

 

 _“I must go to my country.”_ grust is here. grust has always been here. grust had been enough for him to die, to lay down when rising was most wise. and yet- _“There is someone waiting for me.”_

 

and she should know better by now.

 

nyna takes back her hand, one to wipe a tear before he could mention and the other to hold herself. love is like ghosts, and she should never meet one again. _“Is... Is that so...? I see...”_ trying, then, to become a stranger, to rewrite this all in her foolishness, the daze from battle and possession. to distance herself, even though she had already let herself fall to the depths (for she had always been in them). with a cough, straining for composure _“Sirius... Thank you. I am most grateful.”_ anything to not see that ghost in this hollow, to not beg and let go of all pretenses. but she is more than that, perhaps.

 

he is already turning to leave, and she will not call out, she will not reach. for it is not her ghost. not anymore. _“...Forgive me…”_ silent, but of course she hears it, the drop of a very shadow in its wanting and nyna wishes she could.

 

but she, too, turns. one final glance. _“Pardon…!?”_ one more sentence. one more second. one more word. please. that is all she asks for now.

 

 _“No... It is nothing…”_ and he falters in indecision, and nyna has never know him to be as such. and might she wish for that time where he took of that mask, stayed, and- but there are pressing matters than foolish fantasies she believed she threw away. _“Now, Queen Nyna; go!”_

 

and that is farewell, she supposes, to that ghost of the shore. she knows.

 

another life, nyna supposes


End file.
